Her Father's Study
by Dymond
Summary: Joanne's father always understands his daughter. [MoJo]


**Warnings: **slight homophobia

**I do not own _RENT_.**

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**Her Father's Study**

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Joanne's favorite place in the whole world was her father's study.

There was something about it that made it seem like it was pulled from an old movie or part of classic novel brought to life. One wall was a large fireplace that her family lit during snowstorms, above which hung a family portrait that had been made when Joanne was four. She didn't like to look at it because no one was smiling and that wasn't how she wanted to remember her father. The other three walls were bookcases filled to their bursting points with books about everything. The most easily accessible shelves had law textbooks and her and her sister's storybooks, but when she was older Joanne was allowed to climb the ladder to the higher shelves and found books that explored every topic she could dream of.

The room was her playground as a child and her haven as a teen.

As a little girl she would drag her teddy bear into the room, pull a colorful book off the shelf and lay on the leather couch across from her father's desk with it open in front of her. She would flip the pages slowly in an attempt to mimic the way her father read, even though she couldn't understand the complex legal jargon.

Occasionally she would pull down the books and pile them high on the floor, after which she would drape blankets over them to create her own little fortresses. Her mother would scold her later for it (_a young lady like yourself shouldn't be making messes like this, your father has a lot of important work to do you shouldn't be disturbing him, why can't you be more like your sister?_), but her father would help her put the books back and smile at her and roll his eyes, which always made Joanne giggle.

But every night she would crawl into his lap as he sat in his high-backed chair behind his cluttered desk, kiss his cheek and say loudly, "Night, Daddy!" And when she did this he would stop whatever he was doing to hug her tightly and say, "Night, Jo-bear."

When she became a teenager, the only place that she seemed to be able to find a moment free from her mother's nagging (_you should get a nice boyfriend like your sister has, this B plus should have been an A, this A should have been an A plus, I don't like those friends of yours_) was the silence of her father's study. More often than not she would bring her homework in and sit on the leather couch and work there; or if she couldn't stand another minute thinking about school she would pull a book (any book, just something new and different) off one of the top shelves and just read. Most days when her father returned home he would simply sit at his desk, realizing his daughter needed silence now. The two would work together, until her mother would yell at her and she would get up, kiss her father's cheek and say, "Night Daddy." And he would hug her and say, "Night Jo-bear."

The summer after her junior year, the year her mother's nagging became full blown arguments or stone cold silence because Joanne lost her head and screamed the one thing that changed everything (_at least my friends believe in my abilities, I can't be like your perfect other daughter, I don't want a boyfriend because I'm a lesbian_), she spent every waking second she wasn't at a friend's house in her father's study in what looked like a marathon attempt to read through every book in his library. On Monday she would be reading about specialized ichthyology and by Wednesday she would have a book on Caesar's biggest mistakes while in power. And more than one night her father would look over to see Joanne asleep on his leather couch clutching a large book. He would pick up a blanket from the hall closet and cover her, book and all, and whisper, "Night, Jo-bear."

As a now grown Joanne stepped back into her father's study for the first time in a long time, these memories rushed back full force as the smell of leather and cigars filled her nose. This place hadn't changed at all; it was exactly the same place as the playground in her memories.

"Joanne?" Her father's voice startled her out of her reverie and she looked over to see a slightly more aged version of the man in her memories.

"Hi Daddy," she said as he moved around his desk to give her an enveloping hug.

He pulled back slightly to look at his daughter and said, "Even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." She smiled and he directed her towards the leather couch she had spent so much time on. "Sit down and talk with me. What brings you by to see an old man on such short notice?"

"You're not old, Daddy." He rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but giggle, feeling almost like a young child again. "What I wanted to do was invite you and mom to dinner on Saturday at my apartment. There's someone I want you to meet."

He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, a sign for her to continue. "Her name's Maureen Johnson, and she has become incredibly important to me over the past six months. She's an actress, and she's wild and crazy. And she's beautiful and so passionate about life." Joanne paused to fiddle with a ring her father had never seen before. "And I love her, Daddy."

He smiled at her then and she smiled back, because she knew he understood. And even though her mother would never understand, and her sister would never understand, everything was okay. She was in her favorite place in the world, with her favorite person in the world, talking about the love of her life.

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**Words: **994

This was written for speedrent challenge 150, which was to choose one previous challenge and write for it. So I chose challenge 35, which was family. So you get this.

I noticed that I write a lot of interaction between Joanne and her father. Hmm.

Anyways, review.

Dymond


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